


Stumble Along

by lanri



Series: Unseen [23]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Blindness, Gen, Hunted, Season 2, Unseen 'verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 09:47:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1853524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanri/pseuds/lanri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sort-of sequel to Drops of Darkness. What they’re doing is dealing. Somehow it’s not working so well. Hunted episode in the Unseen 'verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stumble Along

“This is a bad idea,” Dean said for the umpteenth time. He was not surprised to hear Sam sigh heavily.

“Yeah, I get it, Dean, you don’t want to do this. But I’m not about to sit back while the demon does this, though. Ash found this kid was similar to me and Max, and now he’s dead. That’s important.”

“Important enough to waste our time and get us dead? Yeah, I don’t think so,” Dean muttered under his breath. He looked around the empty parking lot again. “Dude, I think this was just a mugging gone wrong.”

“Then why did the police report say he still had his wallet?” Sam retorted.

Dean groaned as he ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, sure. But there’s nothing here. Nothing on the EMF reader, no sulfur, no reason to suspect demons at all. Got any other brilliant ideas?”

Sam folded his arms across his chest. “Scott was going to a psychiatrist. I’ll make an appointment while you go sneak in and steal his files.”

Dean tried to joke. “What, you gonna talk about all your problems with my BO?”

Sam didn’t deign to answer, not even reaching out for Dean’s elbow and choosing instead to use his cane to head over to the Impala.

“Sammy, I didn’t—“ Didn’t what? Dean didn’t know himself, and the words jammed in his throat.

“Let’s just go, Dean.” Sam sounded tired, looked tired, and it was all Dean’s fault for telling him what Dad had said and, at the same time, keeping the secret from him. Dean swallowed his thoughts and started the Impala.

“Make your appointment, but you should get some sleep, Sammy,” Dean murmured in-between song changes.

“You need to sleep too.”

Dean blinked. “How do you know?”

“Your voice goes deep whenever you’re tired.” Sam turned towards him in the car. “Dean, I know you. You’re feeling like I hate you because you kept Dad’s secret from me. You’re feeling guilty for telling me and guilty for keeping the secret and don’t know which is worse.”

Dean swallowed and stared at the road as they continued driving. “Sure you need to go to the psychiatrist? Sounds like you have everything covered,” he said jerkily.

“I’m not mad at you, Dean,” Sam said softly. “I don’t hate you. I’m scared that maybe Dad knew I was going to go evil or something, but that’s not on you. Stop worrying about it.”

“Then why are you so on edge?” Dean blurted out before he could reign in the words.

Sam laughed bitterly. “Put yourself in my shoes, Dean, and then you’ll know.”

* * *

Dean was a horrible person. End of story. Worst brother to ever exist. He had told himself that after punching Sam during the vampire hunt that he was terrible, but this was reaching new levels.

The files had been easy enough to steal as Sam sat in his session getting psychoanalyzed to death, so that was good. And Sam was picking up dinner at the diner next to the motel room. All good.

And Dean was a terrible person because he was now listening to the secret recoding of Sam’s session.

The doctor’s voice was tinny. “What would you like to talk about, Sam.”

Dean waited to hear his name, to hear Sam bitterly talk about how the one person he was supposed to trust had betrayed him by keeping secrets, but instead Sam’s voice came through softly. “My father.”

“What about him?”

“He just died.”

“I’m sorry,” the doctor said politely. “I know that’s not what you want to hear, but this must be a difficult time for you.”

“I still have my brother, and me and my dad were never close.” Sam’s voice caught at the end, just as Dean’s heart did.

“So what is it you would like to discuss? Your brother?”

“No. I told you already, I would like to talk about my father,” Sam snapped.

The doctor smoothly inserted, “my apologies, I just thought you might want to focus on your relationship with him instead.”

There was a brief, staticky pause, and then Sam said, “no, we’re good. We’ve gone through some rough spots after my father’s death, but we’ve gotten that straightened out.” Dean snorted in disbelief and almost missed Sam’s next words. “The main thing I’m struggling with is that my father . . . the last thing on his mind was that he wanted me dead.”

Dean listened, mouth probably attracting flies.

“I see. Why was this?”

“I would not like to get into specifics. But now that he is dead, I find myself stuck with all this anger and fear.”

“Why fear?”

“That maybe he was right. Maybe I should be dead.”

Dean could vaguely hear the psychiatrist continue on some spiel about the worth of life, but he shut the recorder off and stared at it. He should’ve known. All this time he thought Sam had been upset at him, when of course, of course he had gone to the heart of the problem. All of the tension between Sam and Dad and now Sam was left knowing that Dad’s last thought had been in doubt of Sam.

* * *

“Hey, they were out of cherry. Sorry.”

Dean looked up to see Sam carefully setting aside his cane while balancing their food.

He knew Sam would get even more suspicious, but Dean went up to him and—after setting aside the pie—hugged the living daylights out of him.

“Dean, are you about to die?” There was actually true terror in Sam’s voice and Dean laughed into his brother’s shirt.

“No, Sammy. I’m just sorry for being a jerk,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, well that’s ‘cuz you are one.” Sam kept his long arms wrapped around Dean, resting his cheek on the top of Dean’s head and making Dean feel like a little kid all over again.

“Okay, enough of this, I want pie,” Dean said roughly, lightly shoving Sam back. Sam smiled, the first he had in a while, and offered Dean his dinner.

There was a knock on the motel room door, and both of them stiffened.

“Did you forget something at the diner, Sammy?” Dean checked.

“Uh uh.” Sam withdrew his pistol and Dean followed his lead, keeping it out of the line of sight.

Dean swung the door open to find a startled young girl.

“Who’re you?” he barked.

“I’m sorry, I’m just—“ the girl froze as she caught sight of Sam. “You.”

Dean shifted so he blocked her view of Sam. “What about him?” he demanded.

“I had . . . okay, this is crazy, but I had this dream—“ she began.

And so they met Ava Wilson, yet another psychic.

Dean really needed a drink.

* * *

Dean’s cell phone rang, and he excused himself from the conference of psychics as Sam tried to explain everything to the new girl.

“Dean Winchester,” he said.

“Dean?”

The voice was vaguely familiar, and Dean frowned. “Who is this?”

“I realize we didn’t part on good terms last time, but this is Gordon Walker.”

“Gordon,” Dean growled. “Last time I saw you you sliced my little brother’s arm open.”

“And I was wrong,” Gordon interrupted. “I got obsessed, let myself get too close to the issue. You and your brother helped me see that, and I’m sorry for how it went down. I’m in the same town as you.”

Dean stiffened. “How’d that come about?”

“I was nearby and heard about the murder. Saw the two of you at the shrink’s office and figured you were checking it out. I’m not going to impinge on your operation, but I wanted to make things right.”

“Well, that’s . . . decent of you,” Dean said cautiously. “Where are you now?”

“At the motel, five doors down.”

Dean repressed the automatic feeling of alarm that he hadn’t noticed Gordon.

“I’ll come down.” Dean snapped his phone shut. “Sammy, I’m gonna go out,” he called back into the room.

“Okay, be careful, Dean,” Sam returned, still chatting with A-what’s-her-name about their visions or something.

Dean never saw the blow coming.

* * *

Sam blew out his breath and patted Ava’s arm. “It’ll be fine. Your vision showed us the booby traps, and I can take it from here.”

“Look, buddy, this is all insane anyway, but maybe you’ve forgotten you’re blind? How are you supposed to go up against a psychopath who just kidnapped your brother?”

“I’ll manage,” Sam said coolly. “Go home, Ava.”

“You could die.”

“Kinda par of the course.” Sam checked to make sure his cane could unscrew quickly enough to be used as a weapon and Ava gasped. He turned his attention on her again. “Ava, you have a fiancé. you have a life. Don’t give it up.”

The cab drove up and Sam got in, giving the driver the address Ava had told him.

Dropped off around back, Sam was able to sneak up to the door. After picking the lock, Sam used his cane to push the door open and stood back as the first blast went off.

Now for the trickier part. Sam unlaced one of his boots and slowly went into the room, lightly drawing his cane along the floor until it came across the barest resistance of the wire. Taking four even steps backwards, Sam tossed his boot inside.

The blast was even louder, but Sam didn’t have time to allow the ringing in his ears to die down. He could hear Gordon saying something, and focused on remembering Ava’s description of the layout. He had to get to the wall so that Gordon wouldn’t see him.

The ringing hadn’t quite gone away, but Sam could feel the vibrations as Gordon moved towards the back.

He jumped him as soon as the footsteps were close enough.

The rifle was an unwelcome surprise, but meant that Sam didn’t have to worry as long as he kept Gordon within reach. Rifles were long-distance weapons, and it had been stupid for Gordon to rely on it solely.

Vaguely as they traded blows, Sam could hear some strange grunting from the other room. Dean had to be freaking out.

Sam managed to pry the rifle out of Gordon’s hands, and smashed him across the face with it.

“Go ahead,” Gordon rasped. “Kill me. Prove me right.”

Distracted, Sam paused. “Right about what?”

“You’re a monster, Sam. And you should be put down.”

Their father’s words shivered over Sam, and Gordon suddenly bucked him off. Sam rolled, keeping a hold of the rifle and swung as he did so. The impact he made sent Gordon’s body crashing to the ground.

Sam wanted to check if he was still alive, but had more important things to do.

“Dean,” he shouted.

The grunts were indication enough, and before long Sam got Dean out of his restraints.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Dean growled.

“Dean, let’s just go, the cops’ll be here soon,” Sam told him, tugging at Dean’s jacket.

“Cops?”

Sam nodded frantically, pulling at Dean insistently.

“Dude, where’s your shoe?”

“Don’t worry about that.”

They made it outside before the shots came, and Sam regretted not holding onto the rifle.

“C’mon, Sammy, I gotcha,” Dean panted in his ear, leading Sam forward until he assumed they were hidden. Sirens overrode the shooting, and Sam slumped against Dean.

“Close call,” he murmured into his brother’s jacket.

“Yeah, you idiot, what were you thinking, coming after me like that? You know he had me call you, and still you barge in?” Dean cuffed the back of his head. “What were you thinking?” he repeated, softer.

“I was thinking I didn’t want my brother to be making friends with a psychopath,” Sam smirked.

“Laugh it up, Sam.” Dean shook him a little, and something different showed up in his voice. “Don’t scare me again like that, okay? Please.”

Sam paused. “What?”

“The grenades.” Dean’s voice trembled minutely. “I just . . . don’t die.”

Sam hated lying, but he tried to smile for his brother. “No dying. Got it.”


End file.
